A Rather Long Sequel
by The Yuggster
Summary: Sequel to A Short Parody. In which the remaining members of the Fellowship try to make it to Minas Tirith after Gandalf and Gimli leave.
1. The Hobbits Refuse to Run

_Title_: A Rather Long Sequel

_Author_: Yuggster

_Rating_: T (violence, comic violence, gratuitous thwacking of the backs of heads, and some scary moments...maybe)

_Disclaimer_: If it were mine _I'd_ be the late J.R.R. Tolkien. But I'm just Yuggster.

_Summary_: Sequel to _A Short Parody_ in which the remaining members of the Fellowship try to continue after Gandalf and Gimli leave. Um...probably safe to say this is AU.

_Author's Note_: Remember _A Short Parody_? This is the continuation...the rather long sequel, if you will. I honestly don't know how often I'll be able to update this...maybe once a week, and I have another couple of things I'm working on. But I figured after my last rather angst-ridden story (_Goodbye My Friend_) a little humor may be in order.

I must also note that this is decidedly movieverse (mostly because _A Short Parody_ was created due to two things I found annoying in the movie trilogy). And thus some of the things you find here are will not keep with the books (such as certain events of _The Two Towers_ and Boromir and Faramir's appearances).

_Can you spot the point in this chapter where I mock my own writing?_

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Chapter One:

_In which Frodo tries desperately to be the center of attention, Aragorn comes to a decision, and the hobbits refuse to run_

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Wizard and Dwarf were just disappearing over the hill as two men, one elf, and four hobbits watched them go with mouths agape. 

One of the hobbits was the first to react, throwing himself onto the ground and clutching at his shoulder, moaning and carefully looking out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone was paying attention to him.

A second hobbit sighed and knelt down beside the "suffering" hobbit, gently patting his shoulder and whispering soothing words.

One of the men twitched noticeably, running his fingers through his reddish hair. A round shield was slung across his shoulders and he, seeing that the other man was not likely to move any time soon, dropped this to the ground and sat on one of many convenient rocks that littered the area.

The two other hobbits noticed this and immediately came to join him, each peppering him with inane questions about his home and family. The man finally smiled and ruffled their hair, ignoring the piteous moans from the first hobbit.

The other man shook his head, dropping to his knees with a grieved look on his face. "I have failed them," he whispered.

The elf blinked, a puzzled look on his face. "What?" he asked.

"I failed the Quest," the man sighed.

The elf glanced over to the five members of the company—the two hobbits pestering the man and trying to make him their new best friend and the man going along with them, the first hobbit acting pitiful and pained and the second comforting him. They were all acting normally, doing almost exactly what they had done every day of the journey up to this point.

He was concerned for his friend for only a moment until he realized that he, too, was acting normally.

Blaming himself for something...anything...which he had been doing since they first left Rivendell (honestly, was it really Aragorn's fault that Frodo hadn't know to turn right or left?).

Huffing out a sigh Legolas plopped down next to Aragorn to cheer the ranger up, as he had done every day since the journey began. "It's not so bad," he said. "You did protect Frodo."

Aragorn brightened (as he usually did after Legolas tried to cheer him up). "I did!" he beamed, turning to look at the hobbit in question (who was writhing on the ground and saying something about a wound that would never heal).

Suddenly happy, Aragorn jumped to his feet. "Come on, let's go!" he said cheerfully.

The other man, Boromir, borrowed Aragorn's patented 'are you mad' expression. "Are you mad?" he asked.

"Certainly not!" Aragorn replied.

"Where are we going?" Pippin asked, looking up from where he was (futilely) trying to wrestle Boromir to the ground by one muscular arm.

"To Minas Tirith!"

Aragorn suddenly found himself the target of six pairs of incredulous eyes (well, five...Frodo was too busy looking pained to work up any real incredulity).

"Isn't the city in deadly peril?" he asked.

Boromir nodded wryly. "I figured my father could handle it," he mumbled.

"Isn't he insane?" Merry asked, tugging (futilely) on the man's head in an attempt to help Pippin in his quest to get the son of the Steward into a wrestling match.

"He's a bit mad," Boromir conceded, reaching over his shoulder to grab Merry by the tunic and plop him onto the ground. "But my brother can temper him."

Mentioning family was the wrong thing to do, for Merry and Pippin immediately began plying him with questions about his brother while Sam looked on with a hint of interest (having finally convinced Frodo that the other members of the Fellowship still thought he was important), and a suddenly-calm Frodo was watching with a bemused expression.

Aragorn yelled for attention a few times but nobody noticed. So he turned to the one being he knew he could count on: Legolas.

"Legolas!" he called, and the elf jumped up to attention. "Get everyone to listen to me, please?" he said, remembering to ask nicely (his father had always told him that asking nicely got a better response than ordering anyone around—though with Legolas it didn't seem to matter).

The elf obeyed immediately. "_QUIET!_" he shouted, jumping up onto a rather convenient rock to glare down at the rest of the Fellowship.

Merry and Pippin stopped pestering, Boromir stopped answering, and Frodo turned his bemused expression back to the elf. Sam just shook his head—he _had_ been paying attention to Aragorn.

Nonplussed, Legolas pointed to Aragorn and took a seat on the rocky ground.

"We," Aragorn said decisively, "are going to Minas Tirith."

Four hobbits and one man groaned.

"Denethor needs our help!"

The man nodded, but the hobbits groaned again.

"We must do what we can to aid Gimli in his Quest by distracting the Enemy!"

One of the hobbits collapsed dramatically to the ground, and another discreetly whispered that he was overreacting.

"We must leave now!"

Legolas jumped to his feet and took off running.

"No! Come back!"

The elf ran back, a confused expression on his face. "But you said..."

"I didn't mean _now_ now," the ranger interrupted sharply. "I meant now."

Still confused, Legolas turned to Boromir in hopes that the other man could cast some light on this.

"He means sit back down," Boromir said quietly.

Legolas took a seat next to Boromir. "Why?" he whispered.

"Who can say?" Boromir whispered back. "He's probably waiting for us to disagree so we can get into a nice, long discussion."

Aragorn stared at the six companions, waiting for a protest. "Well?" he asked when none was forthcoming.

"Well what?" Pippin asked brightly.

"Aren't you going to argue?"

"Why would we argue?" Merry asked. "You're the leader, aren't you?"

The ranger blinked with a hint of confusion. He slowly regarded the faces of the Company. Legolas, he knew, was loyal to a fault (literally; his particular brand of loyalty was a fault that most tried to cure him of, but that Aragorn found unendingly amusing). Boromir was from Minas Tirith and was going back anyway. And as for the hobbits...well, Merry and Pippin had been looking for adventure (and were liable to go anywhere their new best friend was going), and Frodo would probably be too ashamed to face anyone back home any time this century (and Sam went where Frodo went—loyal to a fault but not the same fault as Legolas).

"All right," Aragorn said slowly, not quite sure of what to do when no one argued against his ideas. "Let's go to Minas Tirith."

"But we're not running all the way!" Pippin declared stoutly.

"Indeed not!" Merry agreed. "Unless you'd care to carry us, Strider."

"Our legs are too short to keep up!"

"And if we run we'll need to eat more, and there's not that much left!"

"We could ride Bill, but there isn't room for all four of us."

"How would we run with a pony, anyway?"

Helplessly, Aragorn looked at Legolas who was trying to conceal a smile. He briefly thought of ordering the elf not to smile, but realized that would be cruel.

"But we need to run," Aragorn tried to reason. "How else will we make it there before the war is over?"

"We could go back to Rivendell and get horses," Sam suggested.

"No," Aragorn shook his head emphatically. "I refuse to return until the Quest is completed!"

"Doesn't seem to be in his hands, Pip," Merry muttered to his friend, who nodded in agreement.

"We could send Legolas to Rohan to borrow some horses from Théoden," Boromir suggested.

Aragorn brightened at this thought, but then he caught sight of Legolas' rather wary face. He knew the elf would do so if he asked, but also that it would make his friend terribly miserable to have to run all the way to Edoras all alone. "Why don't we all go?" he said brightly.

Merry and Pippin groaned again. "We're not running that far!" Pippin declared.

"You might not have to run the entire way," Boromir suggested. "Just down to the Gap of Rohan, and perhaps some wandering band of Rohirrim will find us and take us to Edoras."

The hobbits seemed pleased by this, and readily agreed. After all, the gap wasn't _too_ far away, especially when compared to Edoras itself or Minas Tirith.

"Let's be off then!" Aragorn shouted grandly, sweeping his arm vaguely southward as Legolas jumped to his feet.

"Can't we wait until tomorrow?" Pippin begged. "It's almost nighttime!"

Aragorn frowned. "But we have to get a good start...we must run to the Gap of Rohan!"

"Strider," Merry put on his reasonable voice, standing up as tall as he could and looking the ranger squarely in the belly button. "If we rest tonight we can have a fresh start in the morning and we'll be able to run much longer than if we go right now."

The man sighed, seeing that it was no use getting the remains of the Fellowship to leave tonight. "We'll rest here, then," he finally grumbled, sitting down with slumped shoulders.

Merry and Pippin immediately returned to trying to wrestle with Boromir, who promptly decided to humor them by pretending that their combined hobbit strength was an actual threat.

Legolas, a smile on his face, sat next to Aragorn. "At least we'll be able to start fresh tomorrow," he offered encouragingly.

Aragorn glared, but his face suddenly twisted into a grin. "Just be quiet, Legolas," he said, his grin broadening at the look of shock on his friend's face. "Not another word until morning."

With that, the ranger leaned back for a peaceful evening followed by a restful night's sleep. Finally: a night without the elf's obsessive singing.

Aragorn closed his eyes, completely oblivious to the bewilderment and hurt on his friend's face. Had he known how much those words would endanger them all, he would have held his tongue.

After all, there was still the vaguely foreshadowed danger to come.

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Reviews? Flames? Whatever? _

_AN: Weird enough for ya?_ _I reverted to the old version...I had a different one posted earlier. This one makes Aragorn look more like an idiot...that was not intentional, and he won't look that way in the rest of the story (well, only as much as everyone else does). The only character I might make outright fun of would be Frodo, and only because it's so much fun to make him overly melodramatic._

_Coming next: more angst than one would expect in the average parody._


	2. Aragorn Regrets His Words

_AN: Man...first impressions can be so wrong. After I posted the story I was sure everyone would hate it, but it seems like a lot of people have liked it. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!_

_The opening section of this chapter was inspired by a review from Kelsey Estel the TolkieNarnian. So it was her idea...I just ran with it._

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Chapter Two:

_In which Aragorn regrets his words, Merry and Pippin battle some rather gullible wolves, and there is more angst than one would expect in the average parody_

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Legolas glanced worriedly over at Aragorn. The elf had been left on watch all night, under strict instructions not to make a sound. Normally he did not mind being left on watch all night, as it gave him a chance to contemplate the stars without being bothered by one of the hobbits or Gimli (of course, now that Gimli was off to finish the Quest it was unlikely he would ever be bothered by the dwarf again).

Indeed, he usually enjoyed being left alone at watch on a silent night—but this night was too silent.

He glanced again at Aragorn, wishing the man would simply wake up. Of course, even if he did Legolas had nothing to tell him except that he had a vague feeling of danger, and Aragorn would likely be impatient and huffy and rather grumpy at being woken up for such a thing.

Legolas sighed. Aragorn never put much credit into the elf's suggestions. It seemed every time he said he sensed danger near he was pointedly ignored, and not even given a chance to say "I told you so" when danger did strike.

Or perhaps this was simply a vague feeling of danger, nothing more dangerous than a predator on the plains seeking a meal. In which case, the Fellowship (or what remained of it) was far too large to be such a target.

The howl of a lone wolf echoed across the plain. Legolas swallowed nervously. He stared at Aragorn, hoping the combination of the wolf's howls and his own stare would wake the man up. It was no use, he simply rolled over and grumbled something about nasty little hobbits.

Another wolf joined in, and soon Legolas knew the pack was approaching. He stood up, unslinging his bow and stringing an arrow. This was no hunting pack—he could feel that.

He seriously considered poking Aragorn a few times to wake him up, but considering the man's tendency to sleep with a dagger in his hand that did not seem like a good idea. After all, it would be hard to alert the rest of the Company to danger if he was stabbed because he tried to wake the ranger.

Legolas could just see the wolves coming within firing range. He knew he should wake someone up...but before he could decide who, they attacked.

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Aragorn smiled happily in his sleep. He'd been having the most satisfying dream. He had reached the Prancing Pony to discover that Gandalf had actually beat him there and he did not have to escort the hobbits to Rivendell after all. Instead, he ran on ahead and was able to circumvent the whole Ringwraith incident and keep Frodo from being wounded...which, of course, kept the hobbit from reminding everyone else that he'd been wounded.

His dream took a strange turn, however, toward dawn (at least, he assumed it was dawn...that was always when dreams took strange turns, wasn't it?). It seemed his dream was filled with strange howls and whimpers and a general feeling of danger.

Aragorn tried to shake the feeling off. After all, Legolas had been on watch all night, surely he would alert them to any danger.

Legolas...Aragorn sat straight up, eyes flying open. Legolas was single-handedly battling a pack of wolves, mouth clenched shut in a thin line. Aragorn could have run himself through with his own blade—he'd completely forgotten that he'd jokingly ordered Legolas to be quiet.

"Boromir!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "We're under attack!"

Had the situation been less serious, he might have laughed at the sight of Boromir buried under a pile of hobbits. It seemed Merry and Pippin had decided that their new friend was a much better pillow than their cloaks. Strangely enough, Boromir did not seem to mind—perhaps he was more kind-hearted than Aragorn had first thought.

Boromir leapt to his feet, dislodging and awakening Merry and Pippin. The two hobbits saw the danger and pulled out their little swords, anxiously looking from Boromir to Aragorn for what to do.

Aragorn ignored them all, plowing instead into the pack of wolves, desperate to reach his friend. Legolas was barely holding his own, covered in scratches and bites and a fair amount of blood—though whether it was wolf blood or elf blood Aragorn could not tell. Many carcasses were piled around him, making Aragorn wonder just how long the elf had been fighting.

Long enough to run out of arrows, apparently, as he was fighting with his twin blades.

"Legolas! Can you pull back?"

The elf tossed him a strange look, shaking his head. Aragorn grimaced. Of course Legolas couldn't retreat...he was surrounded. He tried to battle through the wolves, but there seemed to be too many of them. He could barely hear Boromir shouting something in the background, and was startled when the wolves suddenly stopped fighting.

He whirled around, seeing with some concern that their focus was on Merry and Pippin.

"Help me, Merry!" Pippin shouted, as though terrified. "I'm afraid I lost my sword and I can't find it!"

"Hold on, Pip!" Merry shouted in reply—which was odd since they were standing next to each other—"as soon as I find mine I'll help you!"

The wolves stared at the hobbits, then looked at each other. Aragorn could nearly see their reasoning...one elf with two nasty sharp knives, or two tasty little helpless hobbits?

With a howl the leader of the wolf pack charged toward Merry and Pippin. The rest of the wolves followed him, tongues lolling out as they expected a rather easy dinner.

"No! Stop!" Aragorn yelled, afraid that the two hobbits were done for.

Suddenly, Merry and Pippin whipped their swords out from behind their backs, brandishing them at the wolves with a war cry. The wolves skittered to a halt, and Boromir charged them from the side.

Seeing the plan, Aragorn attacked the stragglers from behind, throwing the pack into confusion.

He heard a long, high-pitched howl, and looked up in time to see the wolf leader stagger away from the pack, terribly wounded. With their leader gone, the wolves were thrown into chaos and fled, nearly running over Frodo (who was holding Sting but didn't look as though he knew what to do with it) and Sam (who had thought to build up the fire in hopes that that would scare and confuse the wolves).

Aragorn watched the wolves flee with a sense of grim satisfaction. A slight thump from behind him reminded him that Legolas was likely injured, and he whirled around and ran toward the elf.

"Legolas?" he called, taking one of his friend's hands and patting his face gently. "Can you hear me? Are you all right? Legolas, speak to me!"

The elf's eyes fluttered open. "Ow."

"Ow?" Aragorn frowned. "You took on an entire pack of wolves without alerting anyone else in the Company, and all you can say is 'ow'?" He sighed, shaking his head.

"Honestly, Legolas...when I told you to be silent I obviously didn't mean to not say a word while we were under attack." He shook his head. He was not truly angry...just a bit frustrated.

"I'm sorry, I should have been there to help you. I can't help but think...what if I hadn't woken up? I could not bear to be responsible for your death, Legolas. And now you are injured! If only I hadn't been so angry about delaying the journey last night, this could have been avoided. This is all my fault...can you forgive me?"

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Legolas had passed out.

Aragorn sighed. "I should have told him to stay awake," he muttered, gently pulling a cloak up around the elf's shoulders.

He groaned, resting his head in his hands. Now he not only had the responsibility of his friend's injuries on his mind—but it would be another day before they could leave for Rohan.

At this rate, the war would be over long before they reached Minas Tirith.

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Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers? _

_Coming up next: the Fellowship marches to the Gap of Rohan_


	3. The Company Marches to Rohan

_AN: I apologize for the delay between updates. As I've said in the author's notes of other updated stories, I've had a pretty rought Summer. But I'm back now, and for good it looks like._

_To fully appreciate the beginning of this one, you may need to go back to my profile and find "Drabbles" (I believe it's the second story from the bottom) and read the fifth drabble. A certain character is introduced in that drabble, and he makes an appearance here. Of course, I have to muddle some with the timeline from the movie, but...eh, it's just Saruman sending out the Uruk-Hai a little earlier. Honestly, if that's the worse aberration I make from canon in this, it's a good day._

_But, it's all very exciting. The very first OC I ever came up with is now in this story._

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C_hapter Three:_

_In which Saruman assigns a very unlikely captain, the Company marches to the Gap of Rohan, and the truth behind Legolas' odd compulsion to follow orders is uncovered_

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Saruman was fuming. There was really no other word for it. Thanks to his spies (three-leaf clovers, crows, and assorted worms and spiders) he'd learned that Gandalf the Gray and Gimli the Dwarf had separated from the rest of the Fellowship and were taking the Ring to Mount Doom.

Ordinarly, Saruman might not have found this information so fume-worthy. After all, surely a lesser wizard was no match for the White Wizard.

Ah, but it was the dwarf. Saruman had been prepared for a hobbit ring-bearer—looking forward to it, actually. He knew the weaknesses of hobbits (pipeweed and seven meals a day), and he knew that hobbits, for the most part, were such a simple folk that many of them would give over a ring of power to be left alone.

He'd been prepared should a man take up the Ring. After all, men were so easily corrupted...it was more likely that a man who was ring-bearer would fall to its power on his own with no input from Saruman or any other dark force.

And if Gandalf had tried to take the Ring...well, Saruman knew how the other wizard thought, and knew that was no option.

Saruman had even been ready in case an elf took the Ring. He had been working on his latest string of Uruk-Hai, making them more than a match for elves. He'd reserved special caverns deep underground, away from fresh air and sun, as he knew elves could not bear to be locked away in such places. Yes, if only it had been an elf, Saruman would have been ready.

But it was a dwarf. A cursed dwarf. What could he do to a dwarf? Dwarves could not be swayed by his gold—he had nothing that could compare with the wealth of the dwarves. They were stubborn enough that mere promises and words alone would not sway them—Saruman would have to promise three-fourths of the known world and all of the pipeweed in the Shire for the Ring. Darkness could not sway them, neither could torture (at least, none Saruman was prepared to inflict).

Yes, Saruman was fuming.

His newest batch of Uruk-Hai were paraded out before him. He gritted his teeth, studying them closely. He would have to choose a captain from among them...someone to lead the Uruk-Hai into battle.

But who? Saruman pondered the Uruk-Hai before him, stopping to inspect one. Lurtz was his name, he was one of the more vicious and bloodthirsty of the batch. Saruman shook his head. Lurtz would never do...he wanted a loyal captain who would lead the rest of the Uruk-Hai into battle against the remainder of the Fellowship, not one who would endanger the mission to fulfill his own thirst for destruction.

After all, if he could not have the Ring the least he could do was destroy both of Gondor's heirs—the older son of the steward and the long-lost king.

"You!" he whirled, pointing at the Uruk who was standing off to one side. "Urshnâg. You will be my new captain."

Urshnâg blinked in surprise. He growled his approval, sneering at the other Uruk-Hai.

Saruman was pleased. Perhaps command would keep Urshnâg's mind off his insufferable desire to open a gift shop in Moria.

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The trail to Rohan was a long, hard journey. Or at least it was this time. Aragorn gritted his teeth, hand straying momentarily to his sword. There were times when it took every nerve in his body not to slay the hobbits on the spot.

Not that they were complaining, not this time. It was that incessant chatter. No matter how many times he'd tried to explain to the short beings that stealth was of the greatest importance, they insisted on conversing on anything and everything. They were trying to be silent, of course—but then they would start whispering, whispering would lead to murmuring, and then eventually to a full-fledged argument about the benefits of one inn's ale over that of another.

Why they were discussing ale on a journey to Rohan was beyond Aragorn. He gritted his teeth again, turning around for the thirty-seventh time to tell the hobbits to be quiet.

He ran into something, and stumbled back. "Pardon me," he grunted, maintaining his balance. He blinked, shaking his head. "Wait, why were following me so closely?"

"I wasn't," Boromir shrugged. "I merely was not aware you were stopping. Is danger nearby?"

"Danger?" Aragorn frowned in thought. "No, only danger to the hobbits...drat their bickering."

"The hobbits?" Boromir glanced back to where the four friends had sat in the grass, having decided that Aragorn's momentary stopping meant they were all taking a break.

"Pippin has not been quiet since Gandalf left," Aragorn muttered, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "I believe it was only fear of the wizard that kept him silent before."

"I don't suppose you've thought of stuffing rags in their mouths?"

"They'd just pull them out," Aragorn shook his head. "Where is Legolas?"

Boromir smiled grimly. "Last I saw he was limping after the hobbits, on some pretense of keeping watch over the rearguard. Should we double back and see if he's passed out again?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Aragorn replied nonchalantly. "I told him not to pass out, so he's probably all right."

"Ah." Boromir stood beside Aragorn in silence for a moment—though Aragorn did not notice, as he could not hear anything over the hobbits' chatter and the grinding of his own teeth. "Why exactly is that?"

"What?" Aragorn started, hand immediately flying toward his sword. He managed to stop before he drew his blade, cursing the jumpiness that years as a ranger and frequent target of pranks by beings of all ages—human, hobbit, and helf, er, elf—had given him. "What do you mean?"

"Why does Legolas take orders from you? Isn't he some prince of Muckwood or something?"

"Mirkwood," Aragorn corrected. "And you see...it all started many years ago. His mother died when he was an elfling—"

"A _WHAT?_"

"An elfling...an elf-child."

"Oh. I thought—never mind," Boromir shook his head sheepishly.

Aragorn stared at him for a moment, then decided to continue his story. "In any case, Legolas' mother died when he was an elfling. Nasty affair...something about an infected papercut she kept insisting was getting better. His brothers and sisters were much older than he, and to make matters worse there weren't many elves of his age around the palace. Really, he can tell you the entire woe-filled tale some time...I know he was kidnapped at least seventeen times by enemies of his father, and nearly killed thirty-six times just on the way to the council."

"I don't understand," Boromir frowned. "What does that have to do with him following every order you give?"

"Oh, right," Aragorn nodded. "Well...no one really knows why. Some say an old gypsy woman cursed him when he was born, others claim it's because he was traumatized due to the many tragic events of his life. I, however, am convinced he's merely indecisive and gullible."

"Ah." The men were silent for a moment, Aragorn still grinding his teeth nearly loudly enough to block out the hobbits' chatter. But when the hobbits began to argue over the benefits of one variety of mushroom for frying over another variety for grilling, he'd had enough.

"That's enough!" Aragorn bellowed, whirling around. "We must hurry, Gentlemen," he continued in a calmer voice, trying to regain some of the equilibrium he'd had before he met the hobbits. "I suggest we quicken our pace."

"What do you mean?" Merry asked. "We have to go now? But we just stopped to rest."

"You can't expect us to run all the way to Rohan," Pippin interjected.

"I do not," Aragorn replied. "I do, however, expect you to run _part_ of the way. Now, on your feet! We have to keep moving...we've only a short amount of time if we wish to reach Rohan before Gandalf and Gimli reach Mount Doom."

The hobbits started grumbling again, Merry and Pippin protesting every movement, and the very mention of the Quest sending Frodo into another guilty diatribe (his latest stage of grief over losing the Ring seemed to be berating himself for being so cowardly as to give the Quest to Gimli).

Only Sam, it seemed, was ready to move. Aragorn shook his head as he watched the hobbit tend to the pony. He could only pray Gandalf had not made a mistake...perhaps even Frodo could have fulfilled the Quest if he'd always had Sam by his side.

Then again...perhaps Gimli would be the best choice to carry the Ring. After all, what could possibly keep a dwarf from fulfilling his quest?

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"We're not going any further until we've had a chance to catch our breath!" Merry finally announced, collapsing on the ground a few paces away from Aragorn.

The man glanced at the hobbits, shaking his head with a rueful frown. "I never expected them to last so long," he commented to Legolas. "Nearly ten minutes...that has to be a new record."

Legolas barely withheld his snort of laughter. Ever since Aragorn had convinced the hobbits to run, the two men of the Company had kept up a commentary at every stop of how long the hobbits had kept the pace. "Our legs are longer than theirs," the elf reminded his friend quietly, wincing as he pressed a hand against his wounded side. "You can hardly expect them to keep up your pace."

"But if we kept it at theirs, we would be in Rohan sometime before _next_ spring," the ranger protested, whirling about to scold the hobbits again when he saw them taking off their packs as though to set up camp.

"We could run faster if you'd let us eat something," Merry complained.

"You would run faster if the hounds of Sauron were on your tails," Aragorn announced, slapping Pippin's hands when the hobbit began to dig around in his bag. "We're only stopping for a moment. When night falls we will stop for the night."

"But night is _ages_ away!" Pippin complained.

Legolas glanced toward the western horizon, turning away to hide his grin as he saw the sun's position. Sunset was maybe two hours away...clearly the hobbits had no notion of time.

He started forward to help Sam with Bill, but swayed and pressed a hand to his head as the world around him tilted dangerously. He shook his head...was that danger he sensed or was it just the concussion?

The ranger had, apparently, noticed the elf's sudden discomfort. "What is it?" Aragorn asked sharply, grabbing Legolas by the shoulder and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Is it your injuries? Are you in pain?"

Legolas ignored his friend's concern—touching though it was. Granted, his wounds were still paining him, but reminding Aragorn of that fact would only bring on another bout of guilt from the ranger, something they couldn't afford at this moment. "Not exactly," he replied, though he suspected that his sudden wince and the growing bloodstain on the bandage around his side would show how false his words were. "Something draws near..."

Somewhere off in the distance, a single wolf howled.

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__Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?_

_AN: I know...I just can't stay away from those evil cliffies._

_Next chapter: We find out what Gimli and Gandalf have been up to, and Urshnâg leads the Uruk-Hai in his very first battle_

_I had to strangle off the chapter at that last part, lest it grow too long in comparison to the chapters of the rest of the story. Anyway, you'll see where the Urshnâg sub-plot is going next chapter...the idea itself keeps sending me into fits of giggles, so it should be pretty fun. So this isn't entirely a parody, it does delve off into little plotlets of its own._


	4. Gandalf Fumes

_AN: There is a reference in this chapter to a specific instance from the book—the first dinner Frodo attended at Elrond's house, where he met Gloín for the first time. It's nothing major, just if you're wondering about that in here, that's where it came from._

_Oh, and this chapter's a bit disjointed and transitional...don't worry, everything will pick up soon. Yes, there is actually story to this story._

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Chapter Four:

_In which Gandalf fumes, the head-thwacking starts, and Urshnâg forms his Merry Ban_d

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"More wolves?" Merry asked in astonishment. 

"It's the hounds of Sauron!" Pippin suddenly shrieked.

"No, you idiots, it's just a wolf calling to his pack," Aragorn snapped, slapping Pippin's hands again as the young hobbit tried to pull his sword out as though wolves were already encroaching on the company. "It is possible to hear a wolf when one is in the wild without one's life being in immediate danger," he added, ignoring the strange glances he knew Legolas was sending him.

"But the wolves could still attack us!"

Aragorn did not want to add Hobbit-Killer to his rather impressive list of titles. He really didn't. Muttering something about needing to consult his memories about their current position he stalked away, folding his arms across his chest and focusing on not grinding his teeth down to nothing.

Unfortunately, the hobbits decided this must be the place where they were setting up camp that night, and soon proceeded to pull every bag off of Bill that they could, and succeeded only in making a dreadful noise and a frightening mess.

"That is enough!" he whirled back around, finally managing to frighten the hobbits into silence. "The next hobbit that tries to set up camp before sunset will find himself several feet shorter."

"Um...Aragorn?"

"_WHAT?_" the ranger roared, rather more loudly than necessary.

Legolas barely flinched at the man's angry outburst, and pointed toward the western sky. "I think we are being watched."

Aragorn glanced up, moaning in disbelief.

Crows...why did it have to be crows?

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Gandalf and Gimli were traveling south, Gandalf muttering the entire way. Gimli had been careful to keep a bit of distance between himself and the wizard. Not that he thought he was in any danger, exactly, but something had set Gandalf into a foul mood.

"Bah! What did I ever see in that man? What hope has he of becoming king?"

Gimli could only assume the wizard was talking about Aragorn.

"That hobbit would make a better king than he! At least that dratted hobbit would have the sense to do more than mope."

Now, which hobbit? It was clearly not Frodo, as Frodo had seemed to be moping several times a minute since Gimli had first met him. Even when talking with Gimli's father at dinner that first night, the hobbit had somehow managed to convey a general air of moping resignation, and he hadn't even known about the Quest yet.

"Not that he's exactly the most sensible of hobbits...particularly regarding that nasty incident with the fireworks."

Ah, so it had to be Merry or Pippin. Gimli had heard about the fireworks...that story still sent a smile to his face.

"I can only hope he's doing his best to drive Aragorn to distraction," Gandalf fumed. "Perhaps then that man will learn to take some initiative when it comes to leadership...if he can handle a Took, surely he can handle the throne of Gondor!"

Gimli suddenly laughed aloud. Gandalf turned about and gave him an odd look, and the dwarf tried to smuggle his glee. He had to remember this particular diatribe...next time Gandalf decided to go on about the foolishness of Tooks, Gimli would have to remind him that he'd said Pippin would make a better king than Aragorn.

He hated to think what would happen if Gandalf stopped talking to himself. Of course, Gimli could have carried on conversation with the wizard, but it was much more entertaining to listen to Gandalf talking to himself and then see the look on his face when he realized that he was thinking aloud.

Besides, one never knows when a dwarf might need blackmail material.

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After getting everything packed back up on the pony, convincing Pippin that the lone wolf they'd heard was not the forerunner of the Hounds of Sauron, and spending several minutes assuring Frodo that his part in the Fellowship was in no way over, the Company finally set out again toward Rohan.

Boromir was leading the way...under strict instructions to "walk toward that rock...that one, over there, we will camp near it tonight". Aragorn had decided to place Boromir at the head of the company because Merry and Pippin would, naturally, follow him.

Samwise was in the middle, leading Bill the Pony and offering encouragement to Frodo.

Aragorn and Legolas were taking up the rear, the latter still keeping a watchful eye out as he still had some vague inclination of danger approaching. Aragorn, however, was not too worried...granted, any time there _was_ danger Legolas was the first to sense it, but there were many times that the elf's idea of danger and the rest of the company's was not the same.

The ranger had to wonder if Legolas was paranoid as well as indecisive and gullible. Then again, he supposed, one had to be paranoid when one was Legolas. The elf seemed to have a peculiar knack for making people hate him the moment they laid eyes on him—without him doing anything to earn their hatred. Perhaps paranoia was the only thing that had kept Legolas alive this long, anyway.

He sighed, dropping his head. Who was he to lead the Fellowship anyway? And if he couldn't lead four hobbits, a man, and an elf to Rohan how could he possibly become the king of Gondor?

Perhaps it would be better if he left command to Boromir. The other man certainly seemed to have a better time controlling the hobbits, at least. He did not have to resort to scaring them into silence. He could just tell Legolas to go with Boromir, and the elf would troop off to Gondor with the rest of them.

Free from the Company, Aragorn figured he could find a nice hole to crawl into and spend the next fifteen years trying to decide if he _truly_ wanted to try to be king or if he was too weak of a man. After all, Arwen was immortal...would it really matter if it took him a few more years to be king?

Then he realized he probably would not be able to find the right hole, and end up spending fifteen years with a crick in his neck. So the choice was before him: take up the kingship and probably fail horribly, or spend fifteen years earning a terribly crick in his neck that would affect his posture for the rest of his probably-short life.

A sudden blow on the back of his head brought him to his senses, and he whirled around to pin a glare on Legolas. "What was that for?"

"You were moping again," the elf replied. "Stop."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Since when do _you_ tell _me_ what to do?"

Legolas sighed. "Aragorn, I am tired, I am still bleeding from the wolf attack, and I cannot tell if there is a party of orcs over the next hill or if perhaps I have a concussion. I have not the energy to coax you out of your foul mood, so please just stop moping."

The ranger blinked in surprise. "Legolas? Are you feeling all right?" He raised both eyebrows in concern, the thwack to the back of his head forgotten. "I think you may need to sit down."

He was further surprised when, without his permission, Legolas crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

"Boromir," Aragorn called, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. "I think we need to make camp here tonight."

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Urshnâg snarled as the last of his Uruk-Hai finally straggled into line. It had taken an inordinate amount of time to get them all ready to head off in pursuit of the remaining members of the Fellowship. Though why Saruman wasn't sending them after the wizard and the dwarf, Urshnâg didn't know. It didn't particularly bother him, though—wizards were rather infamous for carrying nasty weapons that could strike any orc dead from a hundred yards, and dwarves were notoriously tough to eat.

He growled and smacked one of the stragglers on the back of the head. Bad enough that Saruman made them all wear these ridiculous hats...he could barely see out of the eyeholes in his...now he was making them wear armor and war paint. The war paint was all right, as far as war paint went, but the armor...

The armor they had to wear made so much noise, no wonder none of the other orc bands or Uruk-Hai Saruman sent out ever returned. Urshnâg honestly wondered, sometimes, whether they wouldn't be better off wearing capes and sneaking around in the dark of night rather than wearing bulky, clanking armor and parading about in full daylight.

Saruman gave the word (after a long speech about running for days without rest, which Urshnâg thought was completely unnecessary), and Urshnâg snarled the command for them to head out.

As they trudged into the hot sun, clanking loudly and uncomfortably in cumbersome armor (at least, Urshnâg was—he'd missed the lesson entitled "Sneaking Around Silently in Bulky Armor"), Urshnâg couldn't help wondering if dwarves or elves made better capes for creeping about in the dark of night, and whether either of those races could be threatened into outfitting a band of Uruk-Hai.

After all, if they had any hope of actually _surprising_ the remaining members of the Fellowship, it was high time for a costume change.

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Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers? _

_Oh, what will happen in the next chapter? Will Gandalf and Gimli make it to Lothlórien safely? Will Aragorn and Company finally arrive at the Gap of Rohan (and avoid insulting Éomer)? Will Urshnâg ever find capes to fit the members of his Merry Band? The answers to all these questions and more...tune in next time! Same Bat-Author, Same Bat-Story!_

_I do apologize if you received two email alerts for this chapter. There was some trouble with alerts going through, so I tried reposting it._


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